Highlander in Gotham
by tt-zorro
Summary: A mysterious spree of beheadings in Gotham city leads Batman to suspect a visiting Duncan MacLeod.


Lieutenant Merkel looked like he was going to vomit, and vomit is hell on a crime scene.

"Hey, Merk, go on home. Me and the boys can take care of this one," Police Commissioner Jim Gordon said around a dwindling cigar. "This one" was a murder scene, normally not enough to bother the Police Commissioner of a city the size of Gotham, but this corpse was different.

Its head was lying across the room, beside a sword, and it was the third decapitation in a week.

Jim Gordon had watched freaks try to take over his city, and he had been able to do frustratingly little himself to stop it. Fortunately, he had been blessed with some unlikely help.

"All three seem random."

Gordon did not even bother to turn around to face the familiar voice, and he similarly ignored his men's surprised exclamations at being so completely taken unawares.

"_We_ can't seem to make a connection," Gordon said, removing the cigar, "but we do have one lead.

"There was a similar rash of decapitations in New York, about twenty years ago. The prime suspect disappeared, along with a New York cop.

"Well, she's dead, – car accident – but he reappeared a couple of years ago; about the same time another rash of beheadings was taking place."

"Where is he now?" Batman asked, never turning from inspecting the crime scene, and damned if he did not find things no one else could.

"Dead."

Batman paused, slightly cocking his head towards Gordon.

"But his cousin was in the same area both times – one Duncan MacLeod. Get this; he's a dealer in antique weapons, like that little doozey over there."

"And where is _he_ now?"

Gordon replaced the cigar, taking his glasses off and wiping them with his tie, "He should be in police custody within about twenty minutes. I'm heading over to the station now to deal with it myself."

Batman stood at the edge of the police department roof with the wind billowing that cape of his far out to the side like one of those guys in the funny books that Gordon always had to sneak past his mom when he was a kid.

"His alibi's airtight!" Gordon yelled over the insistent gusts, "He's got witnesses left and right that say he wasn't even in town when the first one happened."

"He knows something," Batman replied.

Gordon removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, cursing the frustration of it all. He had been certain this MacLeod guy was their man, but he and a whole police department had watched the guy walk out their front doors. "We've got nothing on him, and there's nothing we can do… about…" _it_ was lost to the wind, but it didn't matter. The wind was the only thing there to listen.

"I will never get used to that," Gordon grumbled as he pulled out a cigar, and cursing at the lighter that would not light, and the regulations that kept him from smoking in his own damn office.

Duncan MacLeod walked up the street away from the Gotham City Police Department, knowing that he had to spend the next few days very carefully. Damon had gotten himself killed by a renegade, but mysterious, immortal, and getting himself arrested was a bad way to begin the investigation to find his friend's killer.

Suddenly, Duncan had the keen sense that he was being watched, but he had been sure that he had not picked up a Watcher since he had arrived in Gotham.

He turned a corner into a dark alley, confident he could protect himself from any street thugs. He drew his sword, which the police had returned to him under the auspices that he was selling antiques, and looked around, eyes wide.

The night suddenly became deathly quiet. Duncan moved slowly and surely, letting his eyes adjust to the darkened alley. Soon, the shadows formed into tangible shapes, but still no one appeared.

Taking a calming breath, Duncan replaced his sword and started to turn back towards the main street. With no more warning than a loud pop, the alley exploded into blinding light. Duncan's eyes closed reflexively, and before he could reach for his sword, a fist slammed into his solar plexus. He was able to deflect the next few blows and almost regained his composure as his eyes recovered from the effects of the flash-bang grenade, but a blow to his face laid him low.

Duncan's eyes opened slowly in complete darkness. He sat in a hard chair, and his hands were bound tightly behind him.

"Why did you kill those men?" a gruff voice asked from the darkness.

"I didn't kill anyone," Duncan's voice was horse and his head was swimming. "I had no reason to kill anyone. Edward was my friend, had been for –"

"All right," Batman interrupted, if he was disappointed at the revelation, he did not show it, "then why are you in Gotham?"

The lights flicked on, revealing the Batman, intimidating to be sure, but mildly ridiculous even so.

Duncan's head lolled backwards; his thoughts were hazy at best. "I – I wanted to find…"

"The killer?"

"Yes, that's it," Duncan tried blinking against the haze.

"Who is it?"

"I don't know."

"How were you going to find him?"

Duncan fought the cotton in his brain unsuccessfully, "Watcher."

"Edward had a stalker?"

Duncan's head bobbed loosely in affirmation, grasping at the offered straw like a drowning man. He could feel his head just beginning to clear.

"Who is he?"

"I can find him."

Several minutes passed before Batman removed something from his segmented belt and moved around behind Duncan, cutting his bonds. He stated flatly, "I work alone."

Duncan's anger was asserting itself by degrees as his sense returned, "He'll know me when he sees me and follow me. I'm the best chance you have."

"I won't have you exacting revenge under my watch."

"He was my friend," Duncan stated passionately.

Batman replied flatly, "This is my city."

Duncan tried to stand, but his legs betrayed him, and he fell in an undignified heap on the floor.

"You should be careful; truth serum has side effects."

Duncan disappeared around the corner to the alley, drawing his sword. The bait was too good for the Watcher not to take it.

He ran right up to the edge of the alley and peered around the corner. No one was there. Assuming that MacLeod had run out the other side and eager to see his first Immortal fight, the Watcher entered the alleyway.

After a bright jolt of pain in his face, he was engulfed in darkness.

The Watcher awoke to a deafening roar and opened his eyes upon terror personified. He was suddenly very aware that he was ten stories off the ground, outside of a building, and that the only thing keeping him from becoming a sidewalk stain was something other than human.

His whole body jerked forward, and hot breath burned his ear.

"Who killed those three men?" the voice from Hell said.

He could only hyperventilate.

"I can let you go."

"This isn't right! We can do this a different way!" another voice called from behind it.

Hope dawned in the Watcher's eyes but dwindled quickly as the thing made no attempt to recognize the voice.

His body was shoved backwards forcefully.

"NO!" he screamed. His body snapped to a stop. "W-What men?"

"Not good enough," the demon said.

"Pryce! It was Pryce! God, please don't kill me!"

"Pryce?"

"Yes that's it, just 'Pryce.'"

"Where do we find him?"

The Watcher just whimpered.

"Where!"

"He's across the river, doing odd jobs at the docks!"

He felt the thing's hands releasing, and the scream that escaped his mouth was something Evolution had thought to leave behind eons ago. He fell for ten feet and stopped sharply, a rope digging painfully into his ankles. His body went slack, and he shook with sobs, a dark stain spreading across the front of his pants.

Batman stepped back and turned around. Duncan was gone.

"_That's_ how that feels."

Duncan was surprised to arrive at the docks before Batman. The buzz had gotten stronger as he approached a particular warehouse, and he drew his katana as he opened the door.

Stepping into a larger space between stacks of odorous crates, he made eye contact with the other Immortal across the building.

"Let me guess, I killed a friend of yours?" the man spat flippantly.

"I am –"

"I don't care who you are. You'll be dead in a few minutes."

The taller man charged, sword high, and Duncan had no time for introductions. He parried high and rotated opposite the man's sword, slicing a gash across his left bicep.

They were interrupted by the sound of metal clicking across the concrete floor, followed by a sharp, prolonged hiss. A yellow gas quickly surrounded the combatants.

Duncan blinked at the stinging in his eyes and fought the invisible weights pulling his arms down. He distantly watched Pryce fall hard to the floor and was barely aware of himself doing the same.

Before unconsciousness took him completely, he heard, "Not in my city."

"We get all kinds in here; don't we, Nancy?" Henry said, reading the newest corpse's chart.

"Yeah, he hanged himself his first night in the clink! They said it took him a while to die because his shirt ripped, and his feet were touching the floor when they found him this morning."

"Talk about morbid perseverance! Is he going deep freeze?"

"No, Mort said it's cold enough in here to leave him on the slab. This guy's a John Doe other than the 'Pryce' thing – no family, nothing."

"Heh heh, 'Mort.' You know John hates you calling him that."

"Yeah, I know."

The lights flicked out, and the door closed just before Pryce opened his eyes. He was thankful he had not revived around anyone and that no one had noticed he was not quite dead.

He replaced himself with a morgue assistant and took the assistant's clothes before sneaking out of the building.

Thanking all the luck he could ever have that it was daytime and that he did not have to worry about the Batman freak, he carefully made his way to the city limits and out into the surrounding plains. The long walk out of Gotham was far better than the company inside the city, especially at night.

The buzz of an approaching Immortal stopped him short. He gave a resigned sigh and cursed his suddenly bad luck.

As he turned, a bundle hit the ground at his feet. He looked at the other Immortal – the same one from the docks – and slowly bent and picked up the bundle. He removed his sword.

He looked at Duncan, eyes severe and face set in righteous indignation, and laughed, "That is the last mistake you'll ever make. Who are you anyway?"

Duncan set himself, sword leading, "I am Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod."


End file.
